


Silver

by spacejargon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 00:55:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14461614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacejargon/pseuds/spacejargon
Summary: The mirror in Sam's bathroom is not made of silver. His reflection is still there.





	Silver

Mirrors are the reflection of one’s soul.

Gripping the edge of the sink with the faucet burning cold into glossy porcelain, Sam’s reflection stares back.

Long ago, when mirrors were an idea and quickly processed, they were made of silver. Silver is meant to be a purely picky metal, choosing whose souls it reflects, stiff in the presence of something unholy. In today’s terms, otherworldly.

The mirrors in the bunker are old, though created with aluminum-backed silver, instead of pure silver. There isn’t anything but his reflection staring back, but there are times he wonders. Mainly in dusty, ancient-looking motel rooms where he gazes into a mirror for a moment too long and wonders if it were made of silver whether or not he would have a reflection.

It’s a stupid, once in a while thought that he entertains in an off corner of his mind. Far out of reach from speaking it, and never in the spotlight long enough to give Dean something to worry about. Not like Dean would, seeing as he’s the true champion of vanity.

Dean wouldn’t care about the difference of mirrors. He would shrug it off, pretending to listen, and then say something like: “What’s that got to do with a case? What are you, a giant nerd?” because Dean does not find extraneous bits of knowledge like that useful. He sees them as uninteresting and unappealing because of their lack of value.

Sam likes the odd fact every now and then just because it has inherent value in being knowledge. The definition of which is drastically different in Dean’s book.

It’s not as often as it was to sit and mull over one question. After going through Hell and clawing his way back, more than once, he shouldn’t even need consideration beyond a pause and confirmation—he has a soul. It’s been ripped to shreds and spotted full of holes and beyond safety pins and staples, but it’s there. It’s his.

In the time since losing the more destructive parts of himself, shaking them off and onto Castiel without so much as an option to say no, he’s been calmer. Better about not checking a mirror for too long unless it’s been a long day and there are no words in his head but silence. The silence grows into a fond weariness after only so long.

In his bathroom mirror, his counter is home to the real-world reflections of some hair products, toothpaste and a brush, and a few other items like a razor. The lights settle nicely with an appreciative glow. It’s close to eleven and Dean’s already in the shower, the world around them dark with encroaching nightlife.

For some reason, he catches himself staring. Memories click into place like a slideshow from a Polaroid with a projector screen behind his eyes, capturing how his face changed during the years. Each year, there’s a wedge of uncertainty that reaches the spot the question tucks itself into.

Aluminum is cheap. It’s newer, easier to compact into the diagram of making mirrors, and useful. Silver is more dense and old, with its strange smell that Sam catches on the rare days he visits pawn shops where the dust is older than him.

Purity had meant everything back then, in the days of silver mirrors and catching a glimpse of the soul.

Catching his reflection’s gaze, he wonders what it truly meant.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
